I know what I want
by tiggerjojo
Summary: -Chapter Six is up!- Such as Harry’s Potter’s power that no one can see but one Malfoy and so he does look and is assaulted when memories return and once again two opposites find each other and the gravity of love. Slash hd
1. I know what I want

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I know what I want

Harry pov

I rewet the tip of my quill, dipping ink in the inkwell slowly, watching the ink light off the sharpened tip; collecting into the well like drops of blood into a black pool, like a pool of souls. The kind that draw in those you hold most dear to yourself, like Sirius, drawn into a pool of death. My fault, all my fault…I place the quill to the plain unmarked scroll of paper and glance up, at the subject. 

Sitting adjacent to me and up one row, laughing haughtily with his so called 'friends'. Always better, always better than everyone else. The line of his jaw, the hair of pale corn silk….pale corn silk, I write that at the edge of the paper and add to it, eyes of storm and sea, pride of the damned…Draco Malfoy. I set the line of his nose and dip the quill back in the well of souls, I draw out another soul upon its tip and use it to paint a living lie of false colors and broken lines. 

I rummage around in my bag and pull out a charcoal pencil, shading the shadows that follow him, the shadows that are him with this piece of his soul, this charcoal, all that is left of him. I wish for color with me, my oils and pastels, anything, those stupid things. They were left to me. Sirius, left many of his thing to me, along with those colors, oils and pastels, sitting in a dusty box, completely untouched, expect now, by me. 

I'm no good, I know that, but this is the only way I've found to let my soul bleed, the only way to let it out. I can't let them know, them….these people with no pain, their souls intact. They don't know me, they could never understand the pain…of losing everything, everyone, anything important in life. It has all been destroyed and I can't feel anymore, I can't feel. 

Pain inside of me. I can't feel them, I can't feel anyone. Their words…are so hollow, I can't feel their words; I can't hear their false pretending sympathy, I can't feel their worthless vacant touches of reassurance, I don't want them anymore. I know, I know that the true fear inside of me is to lose what I have left, I can't lose them, my friends…or at least they try…my teachers and those I look up to, I can't lose them to him or anyone else. Makes no sense but I would feel better if they were lost from me by me. I would rather kill them myself but I can't, I can't hurt them so I'll leave them. I have to….I need to.

I trace the shape of him aimlessly, feeling the smoothness of the parchment and the slight texture change of ink, I trace the contour of his jaw, this is my life. My life is flat and smooth, filled with light and shadow, it has no substance, no meaning…it makes me hate my soul even more for its blood and tears. I have no worth for a soul. 

A desk creaks softly in the room, under the soft thrum of working students, the sound drawing a touch of life into the dusty air, a piece of something that proves that time goes on, even if I am not any matter to it. 

Soft, brown curls and a scent of clean soap, small hands, covered with ink and calluses on the fingers from reading too much, these invade my sight. I turn my head, looking at my friend, my Hermione, she is perfect and smart, pretty in her own way, she is mine, one of mine. I don't want her, I don't have her. Ron and Hermione, dating the past year, they have each other. I never wanted her, I never had her but she is the best of a friend one can find. I hope she doesn't come to hate me so much, I hope she can forget me with only good memories to reflect upon.

I have to let go I can't keep her, I can't let her be hurt, none of them can be hurt, they are all so precious to me, I can't loose them, I can't loose them to him, he's stolen everything. I smile weakly, closing my eyes to hide the pain reflected in them, to be me, for her, so she doesn't know. Can't know, no one can. She smiles back, the gentle smile holding worry for me and carrying a ripple of impressions on her face that one day will be come wrinkles. I will never see Hermione's old gnarly wrinkles that will form from laughing at the corners of her eyes and her cheeks, the wrinkles from that serious study face she always carries and that look of disappointment reserved just for me and Ron.

She pokes me gently with the tip of her quill, watching my eyes and the image of that wrinkly old Hermione disappears, replaced by this young girl's. She's so fragile and she doesn't even know, she has never seen death, she has never feared her own. She's so delicate even though she acts so strong, I never want her to know that kind of fear that I know, no one should know that fear. 

"Harry, you haven't written any notes at all!" she hisses softly to me, anger and worry edged in her voice.

I smile at her shrug slightly, closing my eyes in the desperation to keep her from reading my eyes, from seeing my soul. She give me one of her looks of mock disappointment, cuffing my arm slightly and then returns to harassing Ron about his notes, her curls not quite blocking out his fiery red top of hair, now even more spectacular after the unwitting test of a Hair-Color-Electrifier, a new Weasley Wheezes product. The surprising thing is that he's come to like it and now uses to product on a bi-weekly basis to maintain the color, naturally both Hermione and Mrs. Weasely hate it. 

I return my eyes to the parchment in front of me, studying for flaws that I cannot see or fathom, looking for the key into his soul. Is infatuation really something more than that? Can I not simply wish to tear his soul to pieces to find out how it works without some romantic ass calling it something as shallow as love? 

Love…how can you describe it all in one word…its like explaining potions as mixing crap together and reaping results. Love is a million and one things besides love. Love is…what is love? Love is loving someone, right? If you are so obsessed with someone and your soul cries for this person in the middle of the night and you find yourself comparing you to him then, is that love? 

Then if what I said is true and you call it love, then if I was to tell you that my soul cries out every night for his because in my sleep I imagine killing him over and over again in a million ways, each one more gruesome than the next? That my obsession is to imagine watching him bleed to find out why he lives at all, to hurt him in all the ways that I physically am able. That I compare myself with him to find every reason why I hate him and why he should die and yet….I could never kill him because I want to keep him. 

I want to hold him and break him and own him in every way that exists. I want to touch him and taste him, taste his blood. I want to hear his voice crying out in pain for me and only me, I want him and I want to hurt him and I can't. 

"What are you looking at, Potter?" Draco snaps, his eyes flashing eagerly for a fight.

I can't help but smile, my mind drawing pictures of blood across his face, "I, am looking at you." I reply softly.

`The classes change at the soft tolling chime, people slip past and I watch Draco's self-righteous sneer, twisting on his face. I smile as my minds eye paints his silken hair scarlet and his eyes blank with death, lying on a cold stone floor, blood pooling around him. 

"Are you looking for a fight, Potter?" Draco demands haughtily as the class empties, leaving only myself, him, his stupid goons and his slut Pansy. Ron and Hermione…probably left without even realizing that I wasn't following them, they won't notice until they reach their next class…no, it's lunch now isn't it? I never bother to keep track any more. 

I don't answer Draco's, question, if you can call it that, more like a demand. Instead I replace my books in my bag and the quills follow. I reach for the scroll of parchment, now rolled and hidden of its contents but Draco snatches it up before I can even feel the parchment. 

I watch his elegant, pale, long fingers wrap around the paper, his manicured nails catching the light from the dim, dust filtered light. He sneers at it, that stupid sneer, always plastered to his face, that mask of lies.

"These your notes, Potter? I'm sure you won't mind me borrowing them then?" He knows that if I say no he can have his lackeys beat the shit out of me, there's no one here to protect me here, there never is, when it truly matters. 

"It's not my notes, I didn't take any. What's on that scroll…" I pick up my bag and stand slowly, hoisting the weight onto my shoulder, still holding my inkwell in my hand, "What's on that scroll is you."

I take in the look of surprise on his face, the confusion and anger, I watch him unroll the parchment and look over the work inside. I glance at the clock, watching each and every second of my horrid life pass me by. I am destined to fight him and one of us is going to die, I may die at his hand but I will take him with me before I go. I will not let him hurt any of them. 

"It looks exactly like you, Draco honey." Pansy coos in her irritating, nasally voice, "It's very good. Can I have it Dracypoo? Please?"

"Want I would pound him, Draco?" Goyle rumbles, Crabbe cracking his knuckles in agreement. 

"No!," Draco orders, glaring to both sides of him then back to me, "Why the fucking hell did you fucking draw me, Potter? Some sort of goody-goody plot of Gryffindor? Trying to get even?"

I glanced down at the shining well of souls clutched in my hand, dipping my finger in the oily black substance. I reach up and slowly trace a single line of ink across his face. I give him a soul while he stares at me in shock and confusion, quickly igniting to anger.

I step close to him, inches separating us and I draw his head along side mine, ignoring how his body stiffens. I pull the hair away from his ear and whisper softly, "I drew you because you are beautiful." 

There and then I dump the rest of the ink from bottle to the floor in a black waterfall, the cascading souls splashing up from the floor and stain both our pants and shoes. I drop the bottle and walk away from them, I don't look back nor do I speed my pace, I simply walk as it the world was the one going too fast and out of the classroom. 

Behind me I hear someone following me, after he orders his whore and goons not to follow that this is something he has to sort out. I hear Pansy whimpering because he slapped her for trying to come and for trying to find out what I whispered in his ear. 

"Hold up, bastard." He calls after me, leaning against the wall to catch his breath.

I glance over my shoulder but I do not turn to him, I cannot look at him without killing him. I begin walking again, listening to my own slow foot falls on the empty stone corridor and his breathing, now returning to normal. 

"I said hold up you ass!" He trots up, grabbing my shoulder and pulling me around.

I feel the pressure of his hand, griping me, I feel that warmth emitting from his body and the anger. I grab his hand, his wrist. I squeeze it until he lets go, until I realize that he has been crying out in pain, until I hear the delicate bones of his wrist give out break under my hand. I release him and look on as he clutches his wrist in agony glaring at me with such hate.

"Who the hell are you? What the hell do you want?" He yells at me angrily, fear echoing in the depths of his eyes, he lashes out at me with pain and anger, I can see beneath the mask now, I can see his pain and I can see him.

I smile softly, gazing at his perfect porcelain face, "I am what you make me to be and…I know what I want, I want many things in my life, for some reason one of them is you. I know what I want but…I also know what I can't have and I can't have you, I can't have anything I want. I can't have, I can't want, I can never have any of it so it's better to destroy it, so no one can have it at all." I walk away, leave him broken, no longer perfect. I've shattered part of his perfect little world. I want to destroy him more than anything else, for everything he has and everything he had done to me. I will destroy them all, I will make them bleed. I will make their souls bleed as mine does. 


	2. I want many things in my life

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I want many things in my life

The light filters in soft falling partials of dust, falling around me and if I unfocus my eyes, the dust turns into shattered hopes and dreams, like stars of tears and despair. I shift on the hard stone step that I lay on, bracing my legs on the adjacent wall, my head almost touching the railing on the other side. 

I try to forget, I try not to remember, I don't want to dream, I want to wake up now…. I can't wake up from this nightmare. I want to wake up…. I reach my hand above me, grasping at the air and the shimmering dust drifting down. I disturb the pattern, I watch the particles scatter and push away from me erratically as if they fear to touch me. 

They aren't alone…no one comes near me anymore, especially in public…they're all afraid that if they touch me, near my heart, befriend me, that they will die, it is all the same fear. It's true though, they will all die in the end; they'll die at his hand…. Or mine. I'm afraid of what I am…I keep wondering if he thinks the same way, if he had the same fear. Perhaps in his soul the only way to protect the mudbloods like himself, was to kill them. That way they'd be safe, safe from this world. 

I let my arm drop down, twisting my palm up to face the ceiling, ignoring the twinge caused by twisting the arm in the unnatural position. I don't think, as I watch the center of my palm. You can't think, never think about what you choose to do because if you think about it then you destroy the simplicity, you make it too difficult. They have always done it wrong, all of them. They just don't understand the beauty but then again I didn't either, not till now, now I understand. 

I know what I want…. A speck of light buds in the center of my hand and as I study it and the feeling it hold in me. I have to know how to draw on it when I need it, I can't think I have to know. 

It grows softly as my mind focuses, carefully, gently. The light changes to my fancy, growing in strength and shape until it forms the shape of a teardrop in my hand. 

"…Bloom…" I whisper to it and it does, unfurling beautiful rose petals of light. 

A soft noise from behind me draws my attention away from the flower before me. Draco…returning from the hospital wing, probably in hopes of catching the last of lunch. I sit up slowly, gazing up at him through the curtain of my hair. 

I push myself up to my feet, bracing against the cold stone wall, cutting him off from any escape to his false world of 'friends' and 'life'. 

The light plays across him perfectly, shimmering in an angelic radiance. It surrounds him, alighting his silk spun hair in a false halo, tracing his features and leaving one side of his face in shadow. The ink stain upon remains upon his cheek and a sort of fear dwells in his eyes, this time it is I that over powers him.

I reach up to him, my free hand cupping his cheek, slightly warmed by the sunlight played across it.

"Heaven and hell, life and death, birth and rebirth from heaven and hell." I say, a grin twitching on my lips, my hand slipping from his cheek down. 

I grasp his hand by the wrist, ignoring his fear of me, tightening enough to keep him from escaping but not enough to hurt him again. There I twist his hand around and uncurl his fingers, placing in his now open palm a flower made purely of light. Only one so conflicting at him could hold or comprehend such beauty. 

Slipping past him, I walk back up the stairs, stopping at the top and glancing back Draco regains his senses. He shakes his head, stepping down the to next step; his leg slipping through step as it disappears, just like it always does. I smile to myself as he stumbles onward, finally breaking into a sprint. Quickly disappearing from sight. 

Poor beautiful Draco, he has found new fear in me. I wonder if he will write his father about me…perhaps not. Not many letters make it through Azkaban's heavy screening process. Soon though, Mr. Malfoy will be free again… I can feel it. Voldemort is planning something, something big. 

They all think I've learned to protect my thoughts, and I have to certain, extent. I can block off anyone from looking into my mind, chances are they wouldn't even be able to sense my mind at all. I can feel him though. I can plunder Voldemort's mind whenever I choose, mostly because he doesn't realize that I am capable. He chooses to believe I am unable of seeing into his power, into his soul and his pain. They all think I am weak, a fool of luck…. They don't understand, they don't care.

I've learned a lot, much more than they could ever teach me because they don't understand. Voldemort understands, as sick and twisted as that is. He knows the same kind of pain only…right now he really knows little pain but when he was young…when he was young it was different. He was smart then but withdrawn…he had little friends, actually none at all. He was alone as I am. He discovered the depths of his powers alone as well, through pain and trail. No one understood him, understands him now…he doesn't even understand himself…he can't even remember why he began killing, why he began the fear.

Power…it corrupts they say. They never mentioned how much it hurts…pain is constant. Pure magic relentlessly filtering through my body, purifying and eating away my imperfections. I can't look at myself in the mirror, not without an illusion on. My life is an illusion; it's only fair that I cover my image with one. 

They can't see me; they don't even know that my hair has now reached a length past my shoulders. Foolish, I am so stupid…why would anyone ever care about me, I'm being selfish again, am I not?

My hand slips along the grained walls, following down one corridor and another, following my feet to their choosing. They take me deeper and farther down than any normal person would go. Down past the dungeon level of the Potions class, farther down…cold, stagnant air smelling of mold and disuse. Dust coats the flagstones, no footprints except those of mine, from now and that one time past.

Last year before I left for the summer, last year when I ran down here to escape the images of a summer of hell on number four of Private Drive. Here deep, lost within the castle, I found a scroll. The single scroll that changed my life…it told secrets of a power no man had ever touched. The author of the scroll…I didn't even discover until I had read the scroll itself over four times, the author signed the name of, Merlin. Whether such a thing is possible I know not. No one will ever know because it gone now…once, I had memorized the scroll by heart, I burned it.

I pause, a distant sound drawing me out of my reverie. Lunch is over, I turn around proceed to return to the world of lies and false images. Something…next class…. Ah yes, I remember now, double potions. 

Sweet little Draco will be stuck with me again; then again he is always stuck with me. Coincidence that we both picked the same classes for our future occupations. Now we are stuck together, along with others of course but still…he knows me, he knows my secret, the truth about me. He knows the fear. Perhaps I can have him, he can know my world……no, impossible…but still, worth a try, at least once.

The air remains damp but no longer stale and quite as dusty as I reach the level of Snape's dungeon and the alleged location of the Slytherin Common. Of course it, is, here…I can feel it, taste it, smell it… would be incredibly difficult to miss that intoxicating scent of greed and power…the scent of Draco. 

I enter the Potions classroom, the entire room going silent as I enter. Glancing up at the clock, almost ten minutes late. Snape watches me, his face curled into an unpleasant grimace.

"So kind of you to grace us with your presence, Potter. I'm sure something urgent kept you away from my class, perhaps saving the world again?"

He's baiting me, I can feel it in the very tension in the air, they're all waiting to laugh at me, all of them but…

I can't restrain the lazy smile creeping onto my face, my reply coming out flat and dead, "Best you enjoy my presence as long as possible…he will kill me next time, of course." 

I hear someone attempt to laugh but it dies away quickly. I can read it on their faces, the shock. They don't know how to respond to such a statement, someone shivers violently and another coughs, hiding their face.

I bow to them, slightly. As a man might do to the court who has given his death warrant. Glancing around I spot several open places, the classes being much smaller in the advanced years. I choose the conveniently placed vacant seat, adjacent to both Hermione and my lovely little dragon.

Snape blinks and slowly reanimates himself, "…ten points from Gryffindor and I think you should stay after class, Mr. Potter."

I nod, a pleasant smile upon my lips and turn to, he of flaxen hair. He won't meet my eye; he stares so fixedly at the board that he appears to be looking through it. His entire body is stiff and his breathing is labored, so close to panicking. I can almost hear his blood racing through his veins but…another air surrounds my Draco, one of overwhelming interest. The great question is which will win out? His fear or curiosity?

I cannot hear the lesson, any lessons. I have found that no matter how hard I try, the lessons pass strait through, not even leaving a trace of boredom just an empty hole in my mind. I weary quickly of pretending in this game…it is only the third day of my return and the façade is already disintegrating. I don't wish to hide, I don't want to pretend anymore but I can't undo what I have done. Not until it gives out, my honor.

Honor. I hate the word. I cannot feel and such thing inside of me, I have long cast away the last remnants of my pride and my loyalty is fast fading away. The honor towards house and headmaster has no touch in me. Dumbledore is a man and a common is simply a place to rest my human shell. 

Although, now I hardly find sleep at all and when I do it is for the only two or three hours at a time. I keep thinking that my body is just humoring me; I do not believe that it even needs rest anymore, just a trained habit, a security to my mortality and nothing more. Strange that I need not sleep but that I weary quickly. Perhaps it is simply that I find life itself tiring. 

My honor lies only for myself

"Since, Mr. Potter, seems to know so much more than everyone else, seeing as he is not paying attention. Perhaps he could tell me about flesian."

I close my eyes and gently force my consciousness down. Of course I don't know the answer to his question but letting my mind get in the way won't help. Magic is everything magical. You think a muggle could mix together a potion and have the same results as a wizard? Foolishness. A potion is not only made of magical ingredients, it is also comprised of magic from the mixer, not much, just a little essence but in the end it is the key to success and failure. 

My mind seeps back and as it does, my awareness if flooded with knowledge of a million centuries. "_Flesian",_ I whisper, focusing my thoughts, ignoring the snickers and whispers of the creatures around me. Then, I know.

"Flesian is gathered from a rare, tropical tree. Its bark secretes a loose, baglike shell, drying off-white, and then filling within that bag- humanlike flesh. This is gathered and is called Flesian_. _Its only use is to create a potion that, when applied to the skin, eats away all the flesh and when it is consumed_,_ it slowly dissolves your internal organs into a pulpy mess and you die most painfully. 

"There is no cure. Once you touch or ingest flesianyou will die. Unless of course, it is applied to a limb, which can be cut off. Flesianpotions are illegal and are considered to be in the realm of the darkarts. Use of the substance or gathering of it results in a penalty of death. In fact, no one is supposed to know of it anymore, except in basic references. 

"That means that, Professor Snape would be baiting me because he wanted me to get it wrong. Because he wants to hurt me for all the failings in his life and for what my father did to him as a student…." I watch his expression, calm and irritated as always but, his eyes, his eyes are panicking and angry, very angry, "The past can no longer hurt us but there is always the present to make up for it all. It is human to hurt people in order to transpose upon them a piece of your pain. It is human to cause pain upon others who in turn hurt even more and it never stops. The humans' only purpose is to cause pain."

As I finish, a smile flits across my face, a twisted, painful smile. I have uncovered another piece of the illusion. I look around me, faces staring in shock and confusion. People fear what they don't understand, the kill what they fear and then they tear into small pieces to see what makes it work. Hermione's face is filled with worry; she thinks she understands, she wants to. She couldn't though, not even if she knew. I turn and look at my Draco.

He understands, he knows something that no one else does and he had made a decision. I can see it in him, although I know not exactly what it is exactly he has decided. Despite the ability within me, I choose to allow people their privacy. I hate reading peoples minds because when you do, ultimately you will find in them something that you can't have. But, Draco has made a decision. 


	3. For some reason one of them is you

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For some reason one of them is you

Draco pov

Always know where your loyalties lie. That is one of the things that my father always said to me, like a threat of some sort. The Malfoy's have always served under someone. No matter our power, we are not leaders or commanders, we follow. We are quite good at it too, we've been doing it for a millennia's. It confused me of course because, certainly I knew where my fathers loyalties were and I knew where mine were implied to be, it was ingrained into my life, but my father has never said exactly who to lie my loyalties with.

He assumes that I am loyal to the family and because I am loyal to the family, that I am loyal to Voldemort. This is taken for granted and I know this, so I have never placed my loyalties. I have been waiting. 

Power, is where my loyalties lie, great power. The final conflict is coming and soon I will be forced to join sides. The side I will choose? The side with the most power of course. How will I know which side has the most power would be the real question. That's as simple as choosing to ally with the greatest power. It all boils down to a secret that I have never told anyone, the secret that came with my birth. 

The ability to feel power. Not just sense it but feel it as a tangible entity. A tangible entity, that depending on the power of the wizard, surrounds a person. Unless they mask it. The thicker and more substantial the air is around a person with that feeling the more powerful they are and power is the key to everything. The key to everything that a person yearns for in life, that and luck which is hardly reliable, except for maybe one person.

Potter has always been a lucky sort of idiot. Lucky he didn't die all those times. He had so much luck about him he swam in it, until as of late, of course. Our fourth year was the first sign his luck was waning, when Cedric came back dead and the Dark Lord was brought to power once more. The fifth year he nearly lost his mind to Voldemort and he also lost his godfather, along with others. His luck died out completely this last year, he almost died…so close. Almost to compensate for his lack of dieing, his last fragment of luck, fifteen people died. All because of him, all innocent. 

Potter has always been the noble type; everyone saw what Cedric's death did to him, so much guilt. The death of Sirius almost shattered him, left him hollow and lost. Last year was the breaking point, those deaths. I was there and I saw them die, I saw his face. The utter horror and anguish on his face for not being able to protect those people. It broke him in a way I can't even comprehend. 

One second he was staring at the corpses of those he failed, grief stricken, mostly at his own weakness. Then his eye twitched almost imperceptibly and a horrible smile crept upon his face. He turned to Voldemort then, who was standing triumphant, and he laughed. He curled to hug his belly, the laughter wracking his body so hard. Then he stopped, no slow dieing out or the laugher turning to sobs, it simply stopped, leaving an eerie silence in it wake. Potter took out his wand then and held the two ends with his hands. He broke his wand, right in front of the Dark Lord, he snapped his wand neatly in two and casually tossed it to the side where is fell against a burning beam that ate away the wand to nothing but a stick of charcoal. 

"Kill me." Potter had said, opening his arms wide to Voldemort, as if to present himself for sacrifice.

The Dark Lord had snorted then and shook his head, "There is no sport in killing a rabbit that has its leg cut off. I shall come for you again, boy. I will not let you live next time so be prepared, give me a bit of a challenge next time." 

Voldemort left and Potter had collapsed into the corpses and ash around him, no one else ever found out what happened that night. I then feared that I would have no choice but to place my loyalties in the Dark Lord's hands. 

You might call me weak for fearing him but you would be foolish not to. Voldemort doesn't simply posses power but unlimited cruelty as well. The Lord has a tendency to kill any of those that displease him, including his own. If he doesn't favor you then your value drops and with little value you are not hard to kill. There is reason to fear in that. 

Certainly because I am my father's son I have more ingrained power than most. Unfortunately, my father would probably kill me before Voldemort would. My father likes power and if the closest he can get, is to be the right hand of Voldemort. No one is going to get in his way, including his son. Then again my father has never been a kind man.

I say that he is not a kind man because he beat me. Although it would be rather shallow to say he is unkind just because he beats me but he also beats up mother and the houselves. He has a tendency to adopt muggle children under false names and slowly torture them to death. When children were unavailable there were always pets, the animal shelters seldom asked questions. That would make my father a malicious, sadistic homicidal man. I prefer to think of him as unkind because denial is a preferred method of mine.

Back to Potter…I thought when I had seen him snap that when he returned to consciousness in the hospital wing he would revert to the madness but I was wrong. When he woke up everything was back to normal, it was just good old Harry Potter, once again escaping the clutches of Voldemort. I though that I had imagined Potter's breakdown, then they had asked him about what had happened. It was just a flash, I would have missed it if I had blinked but it was unmistakable then. I had seen Potter lose it because just for a second, Potters eyes had flashed with the most unmistakable malice I had ever seen on anyone. He said that he didn't remember, that he must have hit his head when he passed out.

This year confirmed it. He hid it well. I , myself, could barely tell that Potter was being anything more than his normal guilt ridden sulkiness. It held out for a long time as well. He really didn't talk to anyone the first two days and few talked to him except to try and console him. They all failed to notice that when they were trying to comfort him that his eyes were filled with scarcely contained rage.

The first clue was in transfigurations yesterday. It was the first class we had had to use our wands in so far, the other classes and the days before being filled with reviewing to refresh summer rotted minds. When Potter had not produced a wand McGonagall had asked him why. His answer was that he had left his wand in his dorm. After McGonagall had taken five points from Gryffindor she told him to go and fetch his wand. He left and didn't return.

It also occurred to me not long after that Potter hadn't come for any meals since the sorting ceremony. A quiet inquiry to the elves in the kitchen found that he hadn't come down there, nor had food sent up. Nothing except water was all that Potter had ever requested from the elves. I also took the time while I was there to try and persuade the houselves to tell me where Potter's new chambers were. They declined to answer me.

No one really knows where they are. No one but Dumbledore, McGonagall and Snape know where it is and the password. Apparently the last attack was too close for comfort and they decided to hide him away. They were probably more worried about the fact that after a month at his relatives house he disappeared until the day before school started. Not many knew about that either but my father told me about it once, the next day they came and arrested him. I hope that his arrest had nothing to do with the anonymous tips I had been leaking to the Ministry. I hate my father.

Today, Potter's shell cracked. I wasn't ready for it, even though I knew. That look he gave me when I asked him what he was looking at. Those eyes were so hollow, a strange void humor filled them and pain, so much pain. I had thought, common logic, that if he hated me before he went off his nut, afterwards he would want to kill me. Wanting to draw me because I'm…beautiful? That was not one of them. Then he touched me.

It was incredible, for as long as he touched me I could feel his power and…his pain. The power swelling through him and engulfing me until I felt it as if it was my own and a pain twisting through every nerve and skin cell, like an incessant fire. I barely heard what he said into my ear I was so utterly intoxicated by the power and agony he held. That's why I chased after him, to have him touch me again. Just once more. When he broke my wrist my self-preservation kicked in, I was afraid of course. It takes incredible strength for a person to be able to accept death. I'm not one of them. Fear and caution are wise to hold around people with great power.

Potter's needs and wants, that crack in his armor. I have watched him, judged my fear and I have chosen. I know now. I know who to pledge my loyalties to. The one with the most power.

The entire class has gone by during my musings. I glance up, noticing the cauldron in front of me and of course who I have been paired up with. Potter, of course, I wonder if Snape really knows what he's doing sometimes. A small, grey spider crawls nonchalantly onto my hand. The potion is apparently done, currently simmering, mirroring up a lovely puce color. I glance at Grangers potion, same color and apparent texture. Potter finished a potion successfully without my help, probably without even looking up at the board either. I wonder if he even took the time to handle the ingredients. 

Someone with the power to work spells without word, motions or a wand. Someone that can create a flower of pure light while at the same time force a disappearing step to hold him, or perhaps levitating himself up over it. All without breaking a sweat or showing any kind of strain. It is truly the work of amazing power. The spider spins out a bit of silk attaching it to my hand. 

"Pour a small amount of potion into a vial and place it on my desk before you leave the class." Snape says sourly, not glancing up from the scrolls he's grading.

I turn my hand over slowly, watching the spider scramble into my palm, I get the distinct feeling that it's irritated with me. I start slightly, Potter's hand appearing in front of my face holding a filled vial. I gingerly take the vial, suppressing the need to touch him, even to brush against him briefly, to feel the power and pain again. I take the vial up to the desk, placing it alongside the others, hurrying back to my things to gather them before the classes ended, before he left. 

The other students rise as Snape dismisses them, I stuff my things into my bag as quickly as I can. Potter is leaving, walking out the door, of course he's not gong to wait and speak with Snape, why should he? He is too incredible. I run after him.

I follow the stream of Gryffindor's and strain to filter out through the noise, the sound of him, the scent of his power. I slip past people, shoving past others in my way. I touch the smooth grained stone wall as I slip along, noticing in one of those strange instances that the world we live in is a constant dull and boring grey. It's almost as if it's to dull us down, to suppress the darkness of the world outside. I see ahead of me a glimmer of black hair and a blast of that disgusting red thing that Weasel has attached to his head that he calls hair.

"Potter!" I yell out, breaking through the last clump of asses in my way, stumbling up behind him, "Please allow me to talk with you." I say softly as I stand behind him. 

He stops, the flood of students breaking around us like a boulder in the river. His friends wait as well, staring at me with unmasked hatred. 

"Come on, Harry. You know Malfoy's just going to provoke you." Granger says with her air of all knowing importance, her wild brown curls seeming to bloom around her face, frame it. 

Weasley just glares, clenching and unclenching his fists, his face slowly trying to do the impossible of turning the same shade of his hair. Potter waits until they are all gone, until the only ones remaining in the hall are his friends and the two of us. He turns slowly, a sad smile is fixed on his face, as if he is seeing something he will never see again, that was the smile he gave to his friends. The smile that he give to me, is weary but curious.

I close my eyes, reassuring myself, tasting the aura around him a final time. There is no going back now. I look at him, waiting patiently for what I am going to say. Behind him Weasel reaches up to clasp his shoulder and pull him around, to pull him away from me. A memory of pain resurfaces.

"Don't touch." I say, my words mingling in unison with Potter's. His eyes glancing lazily over to watch Weasley's hand, hovering inches from his shoulder.

Potter doesn't want to hurt his friends. Would he hurt Weasley if he grabbed his shoulder? Weasel hand pulls back and he regards Potter with an air or utter stupid confusion, as if this is the first time he has realized that there is something wrong with his friend. Both he and Granger have been to wrapped up in each other they both neglected to notice their 'friend' at all.

Slowly I bend my pride down, beating it down to this power in front of me. I lower myself to my knees, not bothering to catch my weight, rather letting it fall and impact painfully on the corridor under my feet. 

I take a deep breath, forcing myself to meet his eyes, "I, Draco Malfoy, do humble myself before you. I come to you with an offer of myself. I give my loyalty to you, my honor my pride and power. I wish to give to you myself in any form you see fit, either as servitude or," I swallow, my voice shaking slightly, "sacrifice. If you should choose," I swallow my fear and stuttering voice, "If you should choose to accept my offer I will remain by your side and obey all commands you give unto me that I am able until I die. If you refuse my offer then I shall respect your decision and leave you in peace."

Something glimmers in his eyes, he smiles. 


	4. I also know what I can’t have

****

I also know what I can't have 

Harry pov.

Draco. Draco Malfoy. My Draco. He knows, he knows even more of my secret than I thought. He knows my power; I can feel the fear of it around him. All I have to do is accept and Draco will be mine forever.

"Harry, let's go! Malfoy's just playing some stupid prank." I can feel Hermione frown, even with my back turned. 

I can almost feel Ron breathing down my neck, " He just a slimy gi-"

"I accept your offer." I say quietly, reaching my hand down.

Hermione gasps and Ron chokes behind me and Draco's head snaps up, his eyes wide with surprise. He watches my eyes and I study his. I love his beautiful storm lit eyes, they are always the same color but they change feelings and emotions. When he's angry his eyes are filled with thunder. When he's happy or content, which isn't often, his eyes are like soft, fresh wool that still smells of the spring pasture. His eyes are, right now, spring showers and flowers in the rain. 

I open my hand to him, to help him up. He takes it awkwardly and I pull him to his feet, he lets go as soon as he is upright. 

He watches me and steps back a pace, bowing to me slightly, "Thank you…Master." He says quietly.

I step forward and pull him upright gently, "You don't have to bow and my name is Harry."

He takes a deep breath, averting his gaze to the floor, "You'll always be Master to me, from now on."

I smile, "Someday I won't. I can feel it."

Behind me Hermione steps back slightly, her postures changed as well and she has her wand out, aimed at my back. 

"Who are you? Where is Harry?" She asks coldly, Ron standing beside her with wand dawn as well.

I face them, smiling, "What is it that you mean?" I ask.

"Don't play stupid!" Ron yells, the end of his wand shaking, "We both saw when you were helping Malfoy…. You flickered." He fumbled out, his vocabulary running short.

"You're wearing an illusion spell." Hermione stated what Ron had been unable to wrap his brain around. 

"Hmmm." I muse, looking down at my hand, "I assume you mean that when I was in contact with him, my illusion broke. Interesting, but for now..." I look up at the two, my palm swinging outward, palm toward the ceiling. I beckon once with my fingers, their wands flying out of their hands and into mine, "I should take those before anyone gets hurt." 

They watch me, their eyes filled with fear, darting around like cornered rabbits looking to escape. I can't help the smile; a sad smile. I know but they know so little. They watch me, not as often as they used to because they have each other now. They are distracted; they miss little things that they wouldn't have before. I don't really mind, I enjoy the tranquility. I want to be alone but I can't shake them, they continue. They still remain my friends even after I have closed myself off to them. They assume, they think that it's because of Voldemort. They think because of him and what he did to those people. The people he killed, Sirius, the innocents.

"Don't worry, Ron, Hermione, I won't hurt you. I just felt it would be highly, ineffective, to be bombarded with spells before I have ample chance to…explain."

Hermione scowls, "Just tell us what you've done to Harry."

"Yah!" Ron echoes, mindlessly.

Stupid Ron always following others and never taking anything forward on his own. I have for long assumed that inside Ron there was a brain, a strength inside. I have come to doubt this possibility. Ron may have hidden strengths but chances are that they will never surface and if they do, as in our first year, only temporarily. Ron is lost.

"Harry Potter is unfortunately right here." I say softly, "I have my own reasons for wearing a disguise spell, I have…changed over the summer and have my own reasons for choosing to remain as I am. Although in reality I probably don't need to wear the illusion any longer. It's painful…" 

Hermione's eyes narrow, "If you were really Harry then you would never hide your appearance from us, Harry trusts us."

My eyes narrow and I can feel my muscles tighten. Anger wells throughout my being, "Do not presume my trust, I trust no one and have no reason to. You…. Never mind."

I touch the edges of the illusion spell, carefully unraveling the edges of the imbedded spell until it loosens, as a normal mortal spell might.

"Draco, come here." I order softly.

He steps up, his entire frame rigid. He hates me, even as he serves me, even as he knows his fate is tied, to mine. Such blind devotion, such potential power. To control people, I want, I like, need and will never have…unless, maybe. 

"Please, give me your hand, Draco." I murmur, never taking my eyes off his own, watching them shut down, close off from the rest of the world. 

He slowly raises his hand, palm up, the fingers slightly curled in hesitation.

"Don't be frightened, my dragon." I say taking his hand, unfurling his fingers gently and laying them flat, winding my fingers along the soft silky skin of his hands, along the thin layered webbing in-between his fingers. I tempt his inner power substance; test the wall of power that every person holds within them, that wall that separates them from true unadulterated power, my world, and my power. But he is the same; the wall is there, the wall…. Wait the wall has…weakness. 

The wall in his soul is weak, a hole exists in the wall of his soul but it different, completely different from my own. Instead of spilling and leaking pure power with every pulsing moment it pulls and draws sucking magic into it without cause. This boy's very presence draws power into it. My opposite, my exact opposite just like he has always been. With care and teaching, dragon could become very powerful. 

I look to his eyes, his head down turned, eyes turned away into the corner of the world. _Look at me_, I will him, sending the deeply imbedded thought into his mind, winding the thought with magic, forcing it to ford his mind, to absorb into that hole, that space in the wall of his soul.

His intake of breath catches the air, drawing it in. His eyes widen, pupils dilating; the muscles of his body contract and the most delicious feeling shoots through his mind and body but I can't place it. His head jerks up and his eyes lock with mine, he knows that what was done to him was my doing, although as of yet I am not exactly sure as to what I have done. Such care can be done here, such knowledge gathered. Moments have passed, seconds into minutes and I am losing myself again.

Now that I have his eyes and his attention I can speak, open my mind to the only person I have ever felt the…need for.

"Taste the edges, take the bait and draw it in, destroy the illusion now loosely surrounding my body, absorb it into yourself."

Anger and confusion reflect in his eyes, "I'm sorry, Master, I know not what you speak of."

I gently raise his hand up and brush his fingertips against my lips. He starts, blushing inadvertently, a scowl fighting its way onto his beautiful mouth. 

"You hate me, of course." I smile, dropping his hand and the illusion surrounding my body. I hear them gasp, the violent intake of breath, a reaction of amazement or shock. I know that they see someone that they don't know and even though I'm Harry Potter, I'm not Harry Potter at all. Not any more.

Draco pov.

I hate myself for what I've done. Even kneeling to power, for my own safety, I hate what I've done. I hate him. I hated him all my life for being the wonder boy, the scar boy and now he's done the opposite, he's turned his face and revealed his power. I hate him for being what I cannot be, I hate him for what he was and what he is. I hate him from his strength and his power, I hate him for what he is doing to me now. 

He accepted, my god!, I never thought he would accept. Then again that was playing off what I knew of the old Potter this, my Master, is wrong and different. His mind bends and shapes in impossible ways, he has twisted his image and what he is. He hasn't just thrown away the boy who lived image but simply built off of it, as if giving up trying to be something more. He has built off of that foundation and the result is twisted and lost, complex, beautiful and horrid at the same time and utterly filled with power.

He accepted my offer; he held out his hand to me and helped me to my feet. He was kind to me even as I swore loyalty and submission to him. He didn't laugh, mock or tease and in his eyes was the kindest look, it was all so wrong. 

If I were in his place I would have spit on the one who knelt before me. I would have abused that power to the fullest. Hurt the creature, made it lick my boots, that's what I would have done. If it had been Potter at my feet, my enemy, I don't know as to what I would have done exactly but none of it would have been in anyway kind or even simply brutal. If our places were switched I probably would have killed him. Perhaps he will, given time but perhaps not, it all depends on how much remains of the old noble Potter, not much I'm willing to bet. 

Then the Mudblood accused the Master of being not himself. I didn't understand exactly what the tragic couple was taking about, what flicker they talked about, as I had my eyes averted…in shame…when he helped me to my feet. Even so I knew as soon as I touched him he was wearing an illusion, I didn't even understand as to why I knew but I did. When his skin contacted my own it was almost as if I was floating, I couldn't think or concentrate. It was like my mind was gone until he released me. 

He called their wands to him with the slightest thought. He never even tried. He just did. Then, he asked of me. He tested my obedience right there in that moment. I hated him, I hate him. I don't touch people and people don't touch me. He doesn't understand that, no one doesI gave him my hand, struggling against my hatred and servitude. I gave him my hand, my uncaring flesh and mentally I hid from that terrifying creature that my Master was. He touched me, caressing my flesh like a lover would, revolting my mind and body. Just like he had done when he touched my cheek. It was like he already owned me then.

I'm not even sure what happened next. One minute he was touching me the next…there was something inside me, caressing me. I knew it had to be him, I didn't know what he was doing to me but it felt like he was both caressing my body and my mind, enveloping me. He violated me.

Oh, god then, then…I'm not even sure. It was only for a second, I barely felt it all. It was incredible, an explosion of fire seeping through my veins, making the world go away. For just a second my entire being was engulfed in such burning pleasure, to call it organismic would be demeaning of what it truly was. I would kill for such as one more taste of that, I would kill for him to do that again. If he knew, if he knew about this; I would never have even the freedom of my mind.

He spoke to me, I heard nothing but the final word from his mouth, 'yourself' I told him I didn't know what he spoke of and he touched me again, slipping his fingertips across my lips, I pulled away, hating him, that twisted creature. I hate him, I hate him even more than I hate myself, I hate him because he is everything I am not. After, his reply… 'you hate me, of course.' …of course, master, I shall always hate you, god's grace willing, if I believed in god of course.

He dropped the illusion, it shimmered and faded, leaving traces of magic in the air and a creature completely opposite of that Potter left behind last year. 

This Potter was something beyond beauty or perfection, something lost and warped. His hair was the first thing I notice, it reaches to the middle of his back now. How such length was reached over a single summer I cannot fathom unless by magic. It seems different than before as well, the hair itself shimmers and gleams in the light like satin, not like the dull, blackened stuff from last year. The wildness of his hair remained though, even pulled back in a loose ponytail it escapes around his ears, pulling long strands down around his eyes and others forming wide loops to settle on his shoulders.

His eye was the next thing I noticed and as soon as I did it seemed impossible that I over looked it. A long ragged scar ran through his left eye, stopping before his nose and starting at just after his hair line, a stripe of white hair, shorter than the rest and curling down in front of the eye marked where the end of the scar is now hidden. His left eye itself no longer is the green of emeralds and forest evergreen but a soft milky white, blind.

He changed his glasses to compensate for the loss of the eye, instead of two lenses only one remains. The glass itself is smaller, oval and the no length of wire goes back to hook his ear, the glass perched precariously only on the nose. His skin, the same olive hue, bringing out his remaining emerald seems, more refined. I feel that if I were to touch it it would be softer than a baby's skin. He's taller and broader, stronger and colder. I can't help but catch my breath at the sight of him. He's changed so much but I know it's him because his eyes still carry the ghosts of those who died in front of him and the self loathing I have learned to see in him, now fully on display.

Power has revealed its face and I alone serve it completely.


	5. and I can’t have you

****

and I can't have you

Harry pov

I watch their reactions, silently reveling in their shock and dismay. I know how I look and what they might be thinking of me right now but I don't care. I am so much more than any of them could ever be. 

"What…what happened to you, Harry?" Hermione finally blurts out.

I smile, "Nothing, everything and most importantly nothing I'm going to tell you about. Let's say, I had violent summer."

Hermione mustered up her thoughts, "Was it…Voldemort?" she whispers.

"Oh god, Hermione, I don't know, maybe. Who the hell else is out to kill me?" I mock her.

Hermione's face flushes with anger and I watch with amusement, enjoying her pain and anger. It's quite a refreshing change.

"That's horrible, Harry. I was just asking a question and you…" her face scrunches up in an effort not to cry.

I feel the last vestiges of guilt towards them dissipate. They should have left it alone, left me behind my mask. Although I would have lost control eventually, I can't think strait anymore and this world of lines and perfect angles they've built me, this box they've placed me; it grates at me. I can't stand it and now the illusion is gone and I am free. The world of circles and lines can't comprehend my ability to bend and shape this world and its pathetic existence. They don't know anything at all.

I lazily push my hair back with one hand, sighing, "Harry Potter I may be but not the Harry you think you see." I spin a lock through my fingers twisting it, "I would prefer you to leave, I would like it if you forget me as your friend and live your life on. The two of you are safe and perfect together. I can see the string, the glowing crimson string upon your fingers."

"What are you talking about, Harry?" Ron asks in confusion.

Hermione stands by him, "We won't leave you, Harry. We're your friends we want to help you."

"Hmph," I snort, my mind flashing through those times in the past, all those times they weren't there and they didn't help, "What you want is not enough, you have to have the power to back up your words, to prove them true and earn trust. I don't trust either of you, except with the knowledge that I know you won't kill me." I pause, dropping the lock of twisted hair and gazing at them, "Leave me or I will be forced to modify your memories. We are no longer friends and if you persist with this we will never will have."

Hermione bites her lip, thinking; as is her habit to do. She nods finally and gently tugs on Ron's robe and begins to walk towards the dorm.

"Mione, what about-"

"Come on, Ron, let's go. I have homework to do." Hermione says levelly, her voice incredibly subtle. Ron nods in understanding and follows obediently behind. 

It's very convenient, I muse as the two walk off down the hall, that Dumbledore's office is in that general direction. Finally I turn to Draco, studying his eyes and the avid curiosity in them. 

I smile, "We should go get your things, Dragon. You will be staying with me from now on."

His head snaps up and his narrow violently, "I do not wish to, Master, and do beg for my own chambers." His words are of obedience, his tone of violence. 

"You're mine, Dragon. Forever if I choose and what you want or wish is no concern of mine."

He snorts and shakes his head, "You caught on quick." He mutters under his breath vehemently.

I nod, smirking, "Lead the way, Dragon. Show me to your lair." 

He heads off towards the dungeons and I follow, talking to him as we walk even though I know he won't answer. He doesn't understand that he is the only one I have ever given my mind to. He is the only one I tell my lost thoughts.

"The halls are endless and all the same. They go all in different directions, lead to different places but always connecting and leading to each other. there is only to follow on to find another that leads to yet another and they all follow themselves and become one single entity with their only purpose to guide, trap, hold and lead to escape. It is the human's choice to follow the will of the hall's guiding."

He snorts, not looking back, "You say that like there's another choice. Would you prefer to walk through the walls, Master?" He mocks me.

"Yes." I reply, stopping as he does so as not to run into him.

He spins around, his violent eyes of tempered steel flashing, "You can walk through walls?"

"Who can't? We are wizards here, Dragon."

He shakes his head, "Not these walls. You're not supposed to be able to walk through walls here. Hogwarts has the most powerful protective spells cast upon it, there are no stronger. It would be just as possible for Voldemort sudden show and give himself up!"

I let my eyes slide shut for a second, slipping them open a crack as I watch him. My mind moving too fast to comprehend my own thoughts. 

I shake my head, "Very true and not. Voldemort could not come here because he doesn't have the capabilities. On the other hand, I can do whatever I want and no one can stop me…well, except one person. That's the reason you offered yourself up isn't it? You know my power, never underestimate it."

He sneers, spinning away from me he continues down the halls to the dungeons, "Are you saying that Dumbledore is more powerful than Voldemort, that he's only on that can stop you?"

"No," we stop in front of a snarling angry portrait that haughtily demands a password, "Dragon, you are the only one that could stop me."

"What?" He chokes out.

I walk over to the wall and lean back against it, closing my eyes, "Get your things, I won't embarrass you here, your former dorm mates are likely able to try and kill me. I don't wish to be put in a situation where I have to defend myself. People have a tendency to die when that happens."

He nods stiffly and disappears into the portrait. Minutes pass which I spend drawing dust towards me and carefully arranging it into the image of a snake with it's head cut off at the entrance of the Slytherin portal. As Draco reemerges from the Slytherin common I gently set a thick protection spell over the design, marveling how he draws the power of the spell even unconsciously. 

He comes to stand in front of me, half bowing rigidly, "I have returned, Master." 

I nod, heading back down the halls with Draco following mutely behind. I can feel his gaze on the back of my neck, searing two holes there as if doing so would allow him access to my mind, to understand me.

I stop in a desolate hallway, unlike others this hallway contains no portraits or suits of shining armor, no one watches here.

I turn to Draco, "Are you ready to walk through walls that are closed to you?"

"What?" He half glares at me in confusion.

"Hold on and I'll show you." I grasp his hand tightly, blocking off his weak instinctive draw of power, shuddering as I do so.

His hand is limp and his gaze hard, I tighten my grip on him and smile as I step into the wall and pull him with me. On the other side my room awaits. It's simple plain furnishings bearing not color or seal of any house. I release Draco's hand. Going over to the fireplace I gently call it to flame, bringing instant light and warmth to the drab room. 

"How did you do that?" the question floats over to me. 

I shift around to look at Draco, his eyes filled with confusion and wonder, "Do you mean the fire, or something else perhaps, Dragon?"

"All of it, any of it. How can you have so much power and need no wand or words to control it?" 

I smile, lowering myself in one of the overstuffed chairs before the fire, watching the dancing flames within the grate, "I can only do what I do by how I do it and wish it were true."

Suddenly he is beside me, his anger radiating like the heat from fire only so much sweeter, "Why talk in riddles? You don't have to answer me. Why not remain silent?"

"Riddles are more interesting of course." I reply softly, "Riddles are easier than trying collect my thought enough to speak as what you would perceive normal. There are simply too many words and ideas in my head to remain silent, I would destroy myself otherwise."

He comes around the chair and stands before me. Slowly he lowers himself to the floor, kneeling at my feet and looking up at me. I smile in wonder at him. All the blood lust I had for him before fades in his presence, the longer I have him, the more he is near, the more I wish to protect him and keep him safe. I no longer want to hurt Draco Malfoy. Perhaps is it because I have him, one of those things I could not before. I want him forever and safe, keep him to myself and share with no one. 

"What are you, Master?" He asks almost to himself, "Why? I have only heard you speak to me as you do, as your true self. Broken, alone…the two of us."

Draco pov.

I don't even know what I am saying anymore. I sound like him now. I hate being touched, I hate him and I am his for the entirety of my life. Is this what it's like to concede defeat? To have no more hope left and throw your fate in the hands of someone you despise. I've given up. I can't even feel the anger any more. It's all just this empty grey world, waiting for death or life to come. 

Harry Potter, Master, God. He owns my body but not my mind or my soul, how long is it before he takes those too? Before he realizes he doesn't have them and takes them for himself. Fear and anger. Anger is gone, fear replaced by servitude.

If I were to be standing with Voldemort at this moment, to have pledged myself to him and have his mark burned upon my arm. He would have killed me or whipped me for my outward hostility towards his Mastery. How long is it before my true Master tires of my anger towards him, before he hurts me or kills me. If I am only a novelty then am I only provking my own demise? 

He is my Master, I have pledged myself to him and he should be given complete obedience and submission. If not for him but to save myself as well. 


	6. I can’t have anything I want

****

IMPORTANT -a/n: I added almost a page to Chapter five and replaced it, see as this it not putting up a new chapter, those who check in regularly might not have know about the changes. Anyway, I highly suggest going back to chapter five, checking the ending and seeing if you recognize it, otherwise you are going to be very confused with this chapter. thanx

I can't have anything I want

Harry pov

I stare down on Draco's sleeping form, nestled upon the couch and draw a blanket gently around him. He shifts in his sleep and sighs softly, his hair shakes loose from the stiff gel and drifts down to frame his face. He fell asleep before I could even answer him, perhaps it was the stress of the day, it is late though. 

I slipped out of the dorm, embracing the ice cold of the oblivion I create to pass through this world. I walk along the deserted hallways, watching the dancing shadows that move along the walls with me. The castle sleeps and I continue, I constantly continue along in this world, with no relief. Ever since my power has begun to grow and expanded, so has my need for rest diminished. Now it has come t the point where I need no sleep at all, pure energy is my constant bodily supplement.

It is this time, in the depths of night, when I am most left alone. I can only think and every time, every moment burns upon my mind. I hate the night and love it at the same time. It has taught my to both love and hate and see through all illusions. I founded myself in this time and discovered the true truth is what I want, what I wish.

I slip around another corner, smiling slightly as I spot Dumbledore's form leaning back against a wall, shimmering slightly. A sign of an invisibility shield.

"Hello, Professor." I say softly as I negate the shield around him.

He looks at himself with surprise then at me, his eyes widening in shock, "Harry? Is that you?"

I nod, "It's only what I am, old man."

His looks at me curiously at this, "You've changed quite a bit, my boy."

I touch my face gently, "I had an interesting summer."

"Why did you leave, Harry? We thought you had been destroyed, we were all very worried." 

I step up to him, watching him lazily, "You did a very good job of covering it up, I noticed." and I step past him. "I am just a symbol, no one expects me to defeat Voldemort, I'm too weak. So as long as those who believe in me and my prophecy think I'm alive, they will continue and the war may be won. I have no purpose, except to exist and survive. So leave me alone, old man, to do my job." and I continue on walking away from him, "I can survive perfectly fine without your guidance."

****

Draco pov

I wake up to the dieing embers of a fading fire, my feet cold and the room filled with an overwhelming emptiness. It takes me a moment to remember where I am, what has happened to me. I swing my legs out and rest my feet on the cold floor, a shiver slips up my spine and I pull the blanket from the couch around my shoulders. I stand and look about the shadow cast room, empty of all but myself, my hair slips down around my face in loose arcs, framing my face and tickling my cheeks. I walk to the wall where we had come from before and touch it gently. My hand slips through and at the same time I am drawn in a strange delicious power envelops me and pulls me through the darkness.

I find myself on the other side, my body charged with unknown energy and the same energy's unmistakable scent still lingering in the air. I follow it, my feet chilling on the cold flagstones. Another chill slips down my spine and I pull the blanket closer around me as I go.

The shadows of the night dance around me, the light snatches of light catching in corners and moving with their own life. Fear from a childhood long gone reemerges and it all returns. The fear of shadows, monsters, father and death…curls up in my gut and spreads through me like a disease, implanting in my mind and soul . Those feelings of pain and the soft fading remembrance of my blood draining from body, when I tried to kill myself...

The things I tried to forget, the things I did forget for the longest time…my father had to get me out of the hospital….insanity is not becoming of a Malfoy….so I forgot…he made me forget……….I don't want to remember….I don't-

"I don't want to remember." I whisper

My hands, I can't feel my hands, my feet, I'm shaking….I can't stop shaking. My steps falter and I stumble against the grand doors that give entrance to the doomed of this school but the door isn't there and I fall to the cold wet grass. Despair, pain, agony….I fall in on myself. I remember…I remember….I couldn't do what he wanted, I couldn't perform the spell, I can't perform any of them….I can't….father is so angry at me…he hits me and curses me and when they don't work he hits me again……don't hurt me any more daddy…please don't…..he was the one who hit me, he was the one…..he made me forget for a very long time. 

Tears prick my eyes and tumble down, I curl in on myself and hug my knees, flashes of memory assaulting me in a way a human hand could never do or did once…my own father…the man who helped bring me forth…I was never….I am nothing to him…I always….I've been just a tool for him all my life…he would kill his own son…and he would enjoy it and……get away with it….

I can hear my own voice carry up in a wordless cry of pain and despair. My heart is beating too fast...it hurts. I can hear my harsh breathing in my ears I can hear, I don't want any of this! I press my hands over my ears and scream…and scream

"Dragon." 

My head shoots up, my hands fall away from my ears and I stare of at the gossamer images that wavers before my eyes, surrounded by and ethereal light and out from him radiates a light and warmth I have never known. Another tremor violently wracks my body and cry out soundlessly as the creature of light kneels down in front of me. I tense as he gathers me into his arms but he pulls me close against me and wraps me in his warmth.

I clutch his shirt, pressing my head against his chest and gasp for breath in uncontrollable terror. My instincts strike out violently and I feel myself deep within and the power, I open my eyes to his power, glowing like molten steel, surrounding him, filling him. I seize upon this seemingly limitless power and pull it within myself, feeding off it eagerly. I hear him gasp softly and his grip tightens upon me. And his power fills me and flows through my veins, caressing my very essence, shooting pleasure through my body and soul. For a single moment I found completement within that equilibrium. I can breath again and my body relaxes and my mind drifts away in the indefinite world of sleep and dreams.

****

Harry pov

I stumble up to my feet, returning unsteadily to the castle, exhaustion slows my steps and weighs Draco heavy in my arms. 

It was too early for him to wake. I knew he had a powerful memory charm on him and the memories that were hidden behind them were filled with pain but I also knew that it was the key to unlocking his ability to absorb magical energy. I had wanted to bring him to his memories slowly, not like this.

To see Draco Malfoy, one of the strongest people that I know to exist, crumble and break before my eyes. The pain in his cry, the betrayal in his heart, the agony from his soul and body. I will never forget, it will haunt my dreams for the rest of my life. 

I stumble on the stairs, clutching Draco tightly to me as my knee hits the stone painfully. I push myself up and continue on walking, stopping occasionally to lean upon the wall.

His natural instinct was overwhelming, it drew the magic from my body like the wind pulls along a leaf caught in the wind and yet it was like a lovers touch and gentle. I haven't felt this helpless for such along time, so weak. 

I pause by the wall that leads to my chambers and desperately gather the last remnants of my energy to push myself through. The wall solidifies behind me after I have passed, catching my cloak in solid stone. I allow it to pull from my shoulders as I walk across the room, placing Draco upon the bed and collapsing next to him in exhaustion, falling into the dreamless of the damned.

(a/n: in the scene where Draco got his memory back-the shaking, lose of feelings in extremities, difficultly breathing and rapid heart beat are the typical symptoms for an anxiety attack.)


End file.
